


In Time

by ravenhairedtrickster



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: M/M, non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-03
Updated: 2012-08-02
Packaged: 2017-11-11 07:42:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenhairedtrickster/pseuds/ravenhairedtrickster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Blake is 'kidnapped' by Bane's lackeys and brought to the modified sewers of Gotham City. Bane wants John for himself, just as he wants the city for himself. (Movie!verse)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Time

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly I'd like to thank my beta [EnduringMadness](http://archiveofourown.org/users/enduringmadness/) for beta-ing this first chapter despite not being into this particular fandom. Thanks! 
> 
> Secondly I'd like to mention that this is my first movie!verse Bane/John story ever. I realize most of this ships stories are relatively the same (ie: rapefic, kidnapping, etc). I'd like to point out that the only Bane/John work I've ever read is located in my bookmarks and that this is a complete work created from the dark depths of my mind. Any similarities to works published prior to this one are accidental.
> 
> Thirdly I hope you enjoy this roller coaster I'm about you take you on. 
> 
>   **WARNING: This story may be triggering as there is non-con present and later mentions of stockholm syndrome.**
> 
>  (Events in movie will most likely be altered in time line or completely nonexistent. I haven't read any Batman comics so this is strictly movie!verse, sorry for any factual mistakes.)

It was the beginning of the end, he was sure of it. He was hobbled and bound, two men, one at either side keeping him some what up right, his feet dragging over the ground. They smelt of alcohol and sweat, their breathes a putrid odour that penetrated the black bag over his head with every word they spoke. Most of their words were lost on him but what wasn't were the plans of demolition after the take over was complete, talk of bombs and armoured vehicles, total control of all Gotham and the release of hundreds convicts from prison. He briefly had a chance to analyze the situation Gotham was facing, the sinister monster that did, in fact, reside beneath the city in tunnels branching from sewers that he didn't even know existed. That they had an elaborate plan that was beyond his comprehension without proper information.  
Suddenly they stopped and he was forced to his knees. His pants became quickly soaked in what he believed to be water but being a little dam was the worst of his worries. 

“John Blake,” one of the men stated. “Just as you wanted, unarmed and -”

“There is no damage to his being?” A strange voice interrupted, John shuddered, it was on the verge of menacing, a strange tone and accent.

“- yeah, no damage, not a scratch on him,” the second man quickly supplied, John could practically hear the smirk when he next spoke. “The damage is all for you to do.”

When there was no reply both men shifted anxiously beside him, their legs brushing against his shoulders. There was a tension in the air, so thick they could've cut it with a knife. After a few long seconds the man spoke again. 

“Good, if I find one scratch on him,” there was a lingering threat in the silence, something that even scared John. “Well, you know what I'll have to do.”

Both men answered simultaneously. 

“Yes, Bane.”

 _Bane_ , the name carried by suspicion and rumours on so many lips in Gotham, the man said to have started this whole disaster with the Stock Market incident. The one who's faced is obscured by a mask. John had seen depictions of him in the newspaper, each sketch a little different, each one too close to being right. He remembered clearly the glimpses of Bane shown on the news, the high speed chase, Batman returning. 

He almost smirked but jarring him out of his thoughts was Bane's voice.

“You've brought everything I told you to get?” 

That got John's attention but disappointment soon set in when the men merely replied the affirmative. Bane grunted his approval and there must of been some sort of signal or gesture for he was suddenly dragged to his feet and the bag removed. 

His stared wide eyed at the man before him. The pictures in the paper had not done him justice, they were underwhelming while Bane himself was something entirely else. The mask was strange but nothing completely alien, he wondered what would happen if it were to be take off. Bane's physique was like something out of a comic. He was built like a tree, or a lion, powerful with muscles that would put most men to shame.

And Bane was looking at him, no studying him, like he was some sort of relic or treasure – almost as if he weren't human. The heavy gaze caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand up, prickling with unease as Bane took a step forward. Two cobalt eyes found his and suddenly Bane was close, too close, right in his face. If he had wanted he could've studied the mask with ease at this distance but it didn't even brush his mind to look. He was locked in the stare of something far more powerful than himself and he couldn't look away. 

Bane's hand came up and he felt a faint glimmer of pride when he didn't flinch away. Fingers cupped his jaw, turning his head this way and that, another pressed along the curve of his spine and into the small of his back. Bane poked and prodded him, feeling perhaps for weapons, making even to check his lackey's hadn't lied. Whatever it was after a squeeze of a hip Bane stepped back to regard them all. 

“Good,” he wheezed. “You know where to take him, secure him and post someone there for security.” 

“Yes, Bane.” 

Both men took his arms and John gasped as he was pulled off his feet and toward a break in some near by cement. 

“Wait!” He exclaimed, voice clipped but shaky. “You can't do this, I don't know what you want but Gotham is not your playground, you can't just take over.”

If Bane's mouth had been visible, John swore he would've seen a smile, hell, there was a hint of amusements in his eyes. 

“I can do this,” Bane said, gesturing to everything around him. “Gotham is mine and so are you. As my property, in time, both you and the city will yield to me.”

John scowled in response, shaking his head. 

“Gotham will never submit, never, and neither will I.”

Bane only chuckled. 

“In time.” He wheezed and then John was being dragged away.

He tried to keep up with which direction they were going but John had no chance. He had managed to memorize the first five twists and then it had all gone to shit. He was marched through breaks of cement, crumbled walls, passed powerful currents that were bound to lead outward. At times they appeared to be traveling up but then the temperature would drop dramatically and they'd be deeper than before. 

Finally, after what felt like an hour of being pulled through the tunnels they reached an anomaly; a tunnel that just simply ended. 

As they moved closer, John realized it was merely a trick of the eye. From far away the tunnel appeared a dead end but if one went further they would see a secret little divvy in the rock that lead deeper. Clearly nobody came this way often, nobody but perhaps the two men escorting him here. When they drew closer he saw why. The entrance had clear warnings, writing in a scrawling hand and a carved B. 

To somebody who didn't know the situation up top this would only look to be a weak attempt at graffiti. To John and the men accompanying him, this was a clear deterrent. This was Bane's territory. 

They entered slowly, one man taking lead, John in the middle and the other taking up the rear. Once they entered through the surprisingly tight crack, John took a moment to fully take it all in. Despite sewer conditions and the continuous dampness it was a relatively normal – well, to an extent – room. A large bed spread out over one section of it, worn and old looking but still a bed. Stained blankets and sheets laid on top, a small rug like thing spread out over the bare cement and earth beneath it all. Somehow lights had been rigged to work, very possibly stealing electricity from the city. A heavy jacket, appearing to be lined with sheep wool, hung haphazardly on a jutting piece of cement entwined with iron rods. 

It was, essentially, a home. 

“Come on,” one of the men said and John pulled his eyes away from the odd display of humanity as they pulled him to a corner where the rug didn't blanket the earth. The corner was home to about five rods poking from the surrounding cement walls. He was made to lay there, and while one tied his wrists and ankles to the rods the other revealed a crude looking knife, big and serrated, intended for hunting game. 

His breath quickened and his pulse pounded in his ears. He went deaf with the noise as the man lifted his shirt and the back of the blade slide easily against his stomach, then in one fluid motion the man tore the front of his jacket and shirt in half. With a few expert cut he was left bare from the chin down to his waist. 

John didn't understand the reasoning around cutting his clothing off but he was at least glad he still had pants.

It was as if they read his mind, or that fate was against him today, for the man with the knife soon when to work on his pants, tearing his shoes off before cutting each pant leg into stripes and peeling them off. After minutes of careful work, John laid completely naked, save for his boxers, on the cold, damp stone. 

The men sneered at him and one ruffled his hair before they sauntered away with the remains of his clothes.

John laid there for what felt like hours, shifting uncomfortably, his arms and legs protesting with the position, his whole body shivering the entire time. Goose flesh spread over his skin like a disease and refused to subside even when he managed to concentrate and regulate his breathing, halting his chattering teeth. He was damp, cold and the ground beneath him had begun to burn his skin with an icy fire. 

To say the least it was torture, no respite from the cold in any direction he moved, just the bite of stone and metal and no where to run. 

He was in the middle of one of the most violent shivering fits yet when _he_ arrived. Bane slide through the entrance like a snake, massive, scary and silent. His expression was grim from what John could see and that only made him look more menacing, mysterious even with the mask covering a key element to reading emotion via expression. 

What was worse was that Bane hardly even glanced at him. One sparse look before busying himself near the bed, setting things down and shifting the sheets and what not. It scared John, the man who had done a whole inspection now ignoring him. Something wasn't right. 

“P-please,” he managed, shattering the delicate silence like a mirror. He didn't know what he was asking for, a blanket, clothing, freedom.

Bane now looked at him. His face unreadable. 

“Please what? I can't give you what you want unless you ask.” 

His voice was teasing but John found no comfort in that. 

“A blanket, shirt, pants, anything,” he muttered, looking away. Bane seemed to think on his request for a few moments before replying in a way John hadn't expected. One moment he had been tethered to the rods like an animal and the next Bane had released him. 

There was a clear escape if he could out run Bane but when he shifted his muscles protested loudly, painfully, seizing up and causing him to curl onto his side. He gasped for breath, trembling as his obvious weakness set in. 

“This is wonderful,” Bane murmured from a few feet away. “I had hoped it would have this effect.” 

John coughed, grinding his teeth together as he glared up at the man. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“The method used to break you, well, not entirely, not yet.” Bane wheezed his reply and John had a second to realize what was happening before he was forcibly thrown onto the bed. 

His muscles protested as he shifted, an attempt in vain to escape, but Bane was on him before he could even begin to try and sit up. After hours of that horrible position and painful cold he was weak and unable to resist as Bane took both his wrists in one large hand. In a matter of moments he was pinned to the squeaky mattress, a monster on top of him, studying him and touching him. Bane's free hand roamed easily, sliding down John's chest, feeling each rib, a finger dipping into his naval before slinking past the confines of his boxers. 

John gasped, trying to thrash around and find an escape but there was none. Bane's weight a heavy reminder that he was trapped and that this had been planned from the start. 

“You're sick,” he hissed through heaving gasps, panic settling over him like a suffocating blanket. 

Bane laughed, the sound nearly mechanical with the mask. 

“So you're finally understanding now,” the man said, twisting John onto his stomach and tearing the boxers down to his knees. “Getting the bigger picture, this is to be your fate.” 

John sucked in hurried gulps of air, his lungs expanded only half way if that. His vision was blurred with threatening tears and even when Bane released his wrists he was helpless. Bane commanded him as easily as he did his lackeys. It was a quick struggle, if one could call it that. John burying his face in the earth scented mattress as two slicked fingers breached him. 

“You should thank me,” Bane growled from behind him, pushing his fingers in roughly. “I'm using proper lubrication instead of your blood. This, John, _is_ mercy.” 

John shook his head, choking as Bane reached deep within him. 

“N-not mercy,” he gasped brokenly. 

“In time you'll understand this is mercy, that what I am doing is necessary.” Bane said, then as an afterthought added. “I don't suppose you've been with a man before.”

John almost screamed at the statement, at everything, the cruel fingering, the pain. 

“No!” He all but howled and suddenly he was empty, Bane's fingers gone. It was glorious, relief and then it was nothing but hell when Bane replaced his fingers with something much bigger, thicker, longer. He felt the hard pressure of something else trying to find entrance, his knuckles turned white and he bit his lip to the point of bleeding when Bane finally forced his way inside. 

There was a searing hot pain, burning with each inch his body gave. John cried, lip bleeding onto the dirty white sheet, saliva and tears mingling at his chin as Bane unraveled him, dug into him and broke something that was never meant to be broken. 

His insides were on fire and it felt as thought his stomach was being prodded through layers of intestines with each crude thrust. 

“Stop, _stop_ ,” John begged his voice hoarse, lip swollen.

The slap of their meeting echoed in the small cement room and then finally, blessedly Bane pressed into him a few more times then came in a spurt of hot liquid that pooled within him. John slumped, his whole body trembling as Bane pulled out, his tears yet to stop. 

Every nerve felt like it was on fire, each twitch of muscle sent him into oblivion from the pain. He barely registered that Bane had laid beside him and when a large arm enclosed around his waist and drew him close, John fell into darkness as every muscle protested.


End file.
